Reflections
by DonutPotter
Summary: Did Dumbledore really see socks in the mirror? OneShot.


**Disclaimer: All of these characters and the main events belong to JK Rowling. I don't own anything.**

**This is just something that wanted to be written, so I did.**

It was back in 1991, when Harry was just a little first year, introduced into a new world, full of exciting opportunities and friends. There were enemies as well, but Harry wasn't overly aware of them at that point. He was so innocent, and naïve I now admit. I hated knowing what his future was. Knowing one day he would decide the fate of the world. At the time, though, he was just a little boy in a big world.

It was when a device triggered in my office quite late at night telling me that the wards around the room in which the Mirror of Erised resided had been breached. I was worried at the time, knowing full well that Tom was near, and only he could have made it through such wards. Then I remembered, in relief, that the wards would also admit someone of the purest intentions, and anyone they led there also. I relaxed, knowing that Hogwarts was still safe, but was curious as to who could have made it into the room. Not only had you to prove to the wards you were worthy, but the door also had extensive notice-me-not charms on it, and you had to be quite observant to spot it. I quickly and quietly made it to the room, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Sneaking into the room, I was seriously surprised for the first time in quite some years. Just over 10 to be exact. 11-year-old Harry Potter was sitting cross-legged in front of the Mirror of Erised, staring up at it reverently. I wondered vaguely what he saw, but I had some possible ideas floating around in my head.

I felt a huge amount pride rise up in my chest. Little Harry was worthy and pure enough to enter the room. It had taken a considerable amount of effort to dissuade myself from looking after him after his parents had died. When I left him on that Surrey doorstep over a decade ago I had felt my aged heart break a little bit more. At that moment I had been certain it was the right thing to do. The child would be much happier living out of the public eye and with a loving family, would he not. Yet when he came to Hogwarts he was small, skinny, and severely lacking self-confidence. The story Hagrid told him came to mind, about awful muggles, which he had dismissed as over exaggeration. And there were Minerva's thoughts as well. But however horrible his life may have been, he remained pure, and for that I was proud.

He returned the next night, but this time leading his young friend, Ron Weasley. He told his friend that the mirror showed his family, and that made me even more proud. He could have seen anything in that mirror. Money, power, earned respect, dominance… anything. But he saw his family.

Ronald Weasley was a fair enough friend to Harry. He was from a prominent light family, but to me he seemed slightly prone to moods, but he was definitely loyal and was a good family. He saw himself better than his brothers in the mirror, as a quidditch captain and head boy. He was jealous. He could not have entered the room without Harry to lead him. Though not many could have. They left once more, leaving me to muse unseen in the corner.

He came back yet again, but without his friend. I could see the longing in his little face. His eyes shined and he periodically reached out to touch the mirror, but hit it and realised it wasn't a real image. The disappointment on his face every time this happened ripped at my soul.

Finally, I revealed myself to the boy. He was afraid of punishment at first, but once he knew he wasn't in trouble he opened up to me. I explained to him the ways of the Mirror of Erised, but also the danger of it. He looked downtrodden when the mirror told neither the truth nor the future. I couldn't lie though.

Then he asked me something that reminded me of old, aching pains that would always stay with me. He asked me what I saw in the mirror. I lied. I had to. He was too young to know the truth. The full story. I think he knew I was lying, but said nothing more, out of politeness and respect I think. He left without a backward glance.

Once I knew he was gone, I turned back to the mirror, the reflection glaring back at me. I rarely looked at it, for it opened old wounds. Standing next to me in my reflection was a handsome young man, and he was laughing. He had such a peace and happiness in his eyes. He seemed the natural leader, and my reflection and the man acted like father and son, happy and content. No pain was in the picture, for the terrible war had never existed, as I had taken the perpetrator under my wing, and no one had suffered. The man was easily recognised as Tom Riddle.

But there was someone else in the picture, someone that hadn't been there before. There was a child, a boy, looked about eleven, playing with some toys on the grass. I wondered who it was. Then he looked up, and I recognised the vibrant green eyes and messy black hair. It was Harry. He looked healthier, though, and more content. Something else as well. It took me a moment to pinpoint it, but I realised it was that he looked more like a _child_. Was this what he would have been like if I had looked after him…?

I turned away from the reflection, the happiness in it painful. I felt something wet on my face, and I had to wipe it away before I realised it was tears. Thick, heavy tears, rolling down my wrinkled old face. I left the room, tears still streaming, more broken than before.

Forgive me, Tom, Harry, for the mistakes of an old man with no one to hold him.


End file.
